


Preparations

by rawnbones4 (iKain2)



Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Spoilers for Lunden Arc, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iKain2/pseuds/rawnbones4
Summary: Eivor has had his fair share of sword-plowing over the years, but Tarben is a different story entirely. As such, he goes to look for “help” to make things go more smoothly.
Relationships: Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed), Erke/Stowe (Assassin's Creed), Male Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed)
Series: Hearth and Home: Domestic Viking Husbands [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021420
Comments: 9
Kudos: 148





	Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> Smol Eivor wants to climb his Tol husband and get ploughed hard and will do what he needs to ensure that it happens.
> 
> Also: I’ve only had Stowe for a few days but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

At midday, Eivor hitched his horse at the nearest stable and walked into water-logged Lunden. Autumn colored the grungy foliage in vibrant oranges and reds, making the city look much better than it did months ago. From what he could tell from the bustling marketplaces and crowded streets of people who smiled easier than before, the cloudy haze of despair that the Order had kept over the city was all but gone, now.

The last letter he received from Stowe a few weeks ago had mentioned that the last of the repairs were estimated to be completed well before winter would set. Eivor would take all the good news he could get nowadays, no matter how small the victory.

However, today he was here for reasons that were not strictly… business. As such, he’d opted for a more nondescript tunic and cloak – the last thing he needed was for some prying eyes or ears of his enemies catching wind of what he was looking for.

His informant had mentioned that she was busy in the morning but would be free to discuss her wares in the afternoon, so Eivor headed over to their agreed-upon meeting spot near the docks and took an inconspicuous seat on a bench by a large tree that had not yet lost all of its leaves. With his hood drawn up, he kept a keen eye out for a short woman with a bronze brooch embossed with the symbol of a labrys.

About fifteen minutes later, Synin cawed from her low perch in the tree branches above. A woman sat down next to Eivor, her hood also drawn up. Pinned to her cloak was the bronze brooch he was looking for.

“Artemis.” Eivor turned slightly. He’d left behind most of his weapons in on the longboat, but he always had his small hunting axe strapped to his belt.

“Eivor.” The woman inclined her head, giving Eivor a calculating look from head to toe. “You’re not a woman.”

“I could be. The beard usually throws people off.” Eivor cracked what he hoped was one of his most charming smiles at her.

Unimpressed, Artemis narrowed her eyes at the man. “You have the payment?”

Eivor patted his coin pouch. “Five hundred silver, as promised.”

“Hm.” Artemis got up, gesturing with her hand. “I would be a fool to refuse service to a such a well-paying customer. Come, my supplies are not far.”

Underneath the bridge and away from prying eyes, the merchant revealed to Eivor her wares:

Several assorted sizes of false cocks carved from polished bronze and covered with supple-soft leather ranging from relatively normal to something dangerously close to the size of his arm and some vials of massage oil for personal use.

Artemis pointed to one of the larger false cocks. “This one was the size you asked for, though if you would like to consider otherwise, I will not judge. It is not an easy thing to handle.”

Eivor scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding his scars. “I haven’t run from a challenge in my life yet, and this is just preparation for the real thing. How much was it again for the oil?”

Before Artemis could respond, a shrill cry from a washerwoman interrupted them. “There! I saw ‘em goin’ down there, reeve! I tell ye, it was one of those bloodthirsty Danes doin’ God know’s what to that poor lass!”

Almost immediately, Artemis slammed shut her box of goods, nearly taking off Eivor’s fingers in the process were it not for his quick reflexes. Eivor’s other hand twitched towards his axe, readied to throw if needed.

“By the Gods woman, this has been the fourth time you’ve called me over— Eivor? Is that you?”

The viking distinctly felt like he wanted the ground the swallow him up at this very moment as a familiar face rounded the corner.

Erke raised an eyebrow at the clearly shady dealing going on underneath the bridge. The reeve rubbed a hand over his forehead before promptly turning to the washerwoman with a scowl. “Go back to your work, I’ll handle this. Good day and may your God bless you.”

“B-but—”

“I said good day and good bye!” Erke’s severely annoyed bark was enough to send the washerwoman scampering back to the streets above. Once she was gone, the man turned to Eivor with a low sigh. “That old crow’s been bothering me all week, spouting nonsense at anyone with ears that would listen. What are ya’ doin’ here under the bridge, Eivor?”

Eivor glanced at the merchant, who stared right back at him with eyes like daggers that could probably kill.

“I was looking around here for something and this woman agreed to help me, that’s all.” It was close enough to the truth and he hoped to any God that was listening that Erke would find it satisfactory.

Erke gave the two of them and the suspicious box a flat look that spoke volumes of how much he did not believe those words at all. He crossed his arms across his chest, sharp eyes glancing around to make sure that no other curious eyes or ears were loitering about. “…I see. Well, then, I’d suggest the both of you finish… whatever you were doing. Might want to do your business away from the nosy washerwomen next time?”

“Right.” Eivor grinned at the friendly out he was being handed. “We will go ahead and do that, kind reeve.”

Erke shook his head at the stupidity he dealt with on a daily basis, throwing up a hand as he turned to leave. “Oh, since you’re actually here, Stowe’s back at the church today – the lousy gut-bucket fell out of a tree trying to get a stray cat down and broke the fingers on his sword-hand. I’d reckon he wouldn’t mind a visit from you for a while.”

“Will do.” The reeve left quickly, leaving Eivor and the merchant alone once more. Eivor turned to her, holding out his coin purse. “Six hundred for it and two bottles of oil?”

“That would be enough, yes.” The merchant took his money and gave him his purchases with little fanfare, wanting to leave as soon as possible. “Next time, make it clear that you are not a woman. If I had been anyone else, we would have left you sitting there in the market all afternoon – we rarely deal with men looking for our wares.”

Eivor nodded his head, watching the woman disappear into a crowd of civilians. His purchases felt like they weighed impossibly heavy as he made his way towards Saint Paul’s Cathedral, but he couldn’t help the slight grin that twitched at his lips whenever he thought about it.

The mostly-repaired church was quiet when Eivor entered, save for Stowe’s quiet praying from where he was sitting in an old pew that had been pushed up against the stone wall. A mangy gray cat with broken whiskers was in his lap, purring away. The reeve looked up at the sound of footsteps, his eyes crinkling as he smiled and waved a hand that was heavily bandaged.

“Eivor! Good to see you!” Stowe gestured for him to sit down next to him. “Are you staying in Lunden for tonight?”

“No, I was just passing through, but I thought I’d stop by to check up on both of you since it has been a while since your last letter.” Eivor sat down next to the other man, setting down his traveling pack on the flagstone floor. “Erke told me you broke your fingers while saving a cat?”

“Some boys were throwing rocks at her. She was too scared to come down, so I went up.” Stowe shrugged a shoulder, looking down at the cat. From this close, it was clear that it was quite old and had prominent scarring on its face, like some kind of warrior-cat. “Poor thing must’ve been scared from all the rocks. She didn’t mean to push me off.”

The cat continued purring, although she did open her vibrant green eyes to stare at Eivor like a Jarl would look at a groveling subject.

“She is surely one of Freyja’s, then.” Eivor patted the cat by her ragged and chewed ears.

The cat decided that she had enough and leapt off Stowe’s lap, landing on Eivor’s pack with a heavy thump, sending the contents spilling out. The creature then jumped onto a pew that had a spot of sunlight warming the wood, courtesy of a broken stained glass window, and curled up for a nap.

If Thor could strike him down now with a bolt of lightning, Eivor would greatly appreciate it, thanks.

Stowe might be a stubborn optimist with a heart of gold, but he was also a competent reeve, so of course he noticed what exactly had fallen out. His cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink as he stared. “Is that a…”

“Gods help me.” Eivor shuffled his items back into his bag, awkwardly. “Yes, whatever you are thinking, it is.”

After a moment of silence in which neither men looked at each other, Stowe asked, “Can I see it?”

Slowly, Eivor opened up his bag. The false cock, the leather covering still shiny and smooth, sat in there innocently along with the bottles of oil. “Erke found me just as I was buying it from a merchant.”

“He’s always had a bad sense of timing.” Stowe peered curiously at Eivor’s purchase. “O God… that is quite large.”

“My lover is just as large, if not larger. This is to prepare for it, since otherwise I’d be in Valhalla before getting fucked by him.”

Stowe choked on his own spit. Eivor had to pound on the man’s back to get him to stop coughing. “How would that even fit?!”

“With a lot of effort and oil.” Eivor closed up his bag tightly, hopefully preventing further untimely embarrassment for today. Sagely, Eivor added, “Be glad that Erke seems like a normal sort of man. I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to walk for days, afterwards.”

“I wouldn’t—w-we haven’t—"

“Really? It’s been months since I caught you here!”

“No, it’s just…” Stowe’s gaze skittered down at his bandaged hand. “We’ve been so busy as of late, we don’t really have time for… that. And, now that my hand’s broken…”

“Ah, that explains why he was in a foul mood earlier. Then, I will gift to you one of my bottles – to smooth the way to a good sword-plough. Next time we meet, we will share our stories over a cup of mead.”

The slight pink in Stowe’s cheeks immediately turned a vibrant flaming red as the man hid his face behind a bandaged hand, and Eivor couldn’t help but lean back in his seat and laugh heartily at his friend.

* * *

Finding a private place with a locked door proved near-impossible in Ravensthorpe, especially with the list of duties the people always needed his help with for some reason or another, so Eivor stealthily made his way over to the waterfall not too far from Valka’s home. Over the past few days, he’d managed to chip away at the rock wall blocking the hidden space, leaving only enough room to crawl in through, so Eivor dragged over a heavy crate to cover the hole, so he would know in advance should anyone be coming.

Naked as the day he was born and settled down into the bedroll he’d laid out on the cave floor, Eivor pulled out the false cock and the bottle of oil. He uncorked the bottle first, bringing it to his nose.

Hm. Lavender. Not bad. He slathered a good amount of oil over the fitted leather covering – he wasn’t going to shove bare metal up his ass, no matter how much many times he washed it, after all.

He stroked himself to hardness with one hand while the other played idly with the false cock. Even once he was at full-mast, the false cock was still imposingly larger than his. It didn’t take much to remember the first time he’d been faced with his lover’s straining cock pressed heavy against his stomach. Eivor’s mouth had watered at the brilliant sight, but Tarben had refused to allow him to do anything other than use his hand on him, afraid that he would lose control and hurt him otherwise.

When he was good and relaxed, Eivor got to his knees, placing the false cock between his legs. The blunt tip pressing against his entrance took longer than he would have liked to get in, but as he rocked slowly against it, he could feel the slide getting easier with each passing breath.

He took his time, pausing every so often to breathe heavily as he lowered himself, inch by inch, onto the false cock, his hand gliding over his own wet cock as he relished the burn in his body. Only halfway there, and he was already opened wider than he’d ever been but there was still so much more to go.

Eivor shifted his angle, hoping to find the one spot that could make even the most stalwart of men cry out when touched. It took a few tries, but after lowering himself a bit more, the girth of the false cock pressed up against it and Eivor had to grip hard at himself to keep him from spilling right then and there as he slipped further down the length, nearly to the base now. His moans echoed against the walls of the cave as he rocked against it, feeling like he was going to burst at the seams at just how impossibly full he felt.

His hand pulled faster at his cock as he finally sat down all the way, the unyielding pressure of the false cock against his insides, and it was only a moment later that Eivor felt a wave of pleasure crash over him as he splattered his hand and groin with his seed.

Eivor fell forward onto the bedroll, every nerve in his body buzzing pleasantly as he tightened around the false cock stuffed inside of him, sorely wishing it was a real flesh-and-blood cock instead. When his gasps finally quieted down and he caught his breath, he reached out to pull it from his body slowly, inch by inch. When it was out, he curiously pressed two fingers into the space left behind.

Gods, he was so loose. He could probably take Tarben straight to the hilt now, if he so wished.

“You, my friend, are worth every silver.” Grinning, Eivor rolled onto his back and held up the false cock, dripping oil onto his stomach.

* * *

After a week of careful preparations, Eivor finally made his move the night before he and the other warriors were due to raid another monastery for supplies. With his blood smoldering in his veins from an earlier drinking game and a night full of lingering, heated touches, it didn’t take long until he had Tarben pressing him against the beam of wood next to the bed, a strong thigh slotted between his legs.

“May I suck you, love? I wish for your taste on my tongue.” Tarben’s murmur was little more than a breath against Eivor’s ear as he nibbled at the thin skin there. The baker’s large hands were already working stripping away the ties and belts that held up Eivor’s tunic and trousers, the rest of his outer armor pieces long since having been set aside.

“I have a different plan for tonight – fuck me, right here. I want to feel your strength, aching from the moment I leave and until I return back into your arms.” Eivor sucked a bruise into the hollow of the other man’s neck as he quickly undid Tarben’s trousers and slid down his underclothes, the man’s half-hard cock springing up to poke at Eivor’s stomach.

“Eivor…” Tarben leaned back, worry in his dark eyes as he bit at his lip. “Are you sure?”

Eivor tossed off his tunic and dragged down his trousers. He’d forgone underclothes, to make this easier. “Reach into my traveling pack. Humor me.”

Tarben leaned to the side, cautiously reaching into Eivor’s traveling pack, which was right by their feet. His fingers found something leathery that was long and solid, while his knuckles brushed against what felt like a sturdy glass bottle. He pulled out the leather, first, and his face burned.

It was clearly a false cock, and a large one at that – perhaps as large as his own.

Eivor’s hand slid wetly along Tarben’s now-fully-interested cock, dragging the baker’s attention back to the grinning warrior. “If I can take that, I can take you. Now, grab the oil and get to ploughing me with your sword, Tarben.”

The false cock dropped back into the bag as Tarben grabbed the vial of oil and poured its contents over Eivor’s hand, the slick liquid dripping and smearing all over his cock. After a few moments, Eivor gave one final squeeze before grabbing Tarben’s shoulders with both hands. With one practiced movement, he hooked his legs around Tarben’s hips. Tarben had to quickly hold him by the thighs and press him against the wooden wall or else he’d likely fall backwards, held up by nothing but the baker’s strength.

Eivor’s blue eyes gleamed in the light as he daringly reached down and grabbed Tarben’s cock, nudging the slick head against his entrance, teasing him. His low, throaty groan as the head passed through with little trouble had Tarben leaning in to pressing a bruising kiss against the warrior’s mouth as he was guided further inside that tight, welcoming warmth.

When he was fully sheathed, Eivor was heaving for air, his eyes squeezed shut tightly with one hand wrapped around the base of his weeping cock. Tarben could feel the sweat dripping down his face and neck as he kept himself from pulling out and thrusting forward – as even as strong as Eivor was, he was still a man of flesh and blood that could be hurt if he wasn’t careful.

After a few moments to adjust, Eivor opened his eyes to take in the sight of them joined together with hardly space between them, finally. Gods only knew what he looked like right now, flushed from head to toe and pressed against a man so much larger than he was, filled up to the brim with cock.

“Tarben, love,” Eivor dragged Tarben’s gaze back to him by tugging lightly at the man’s chest hair. He wasn’t above begging, now. “Please, move.”

Tarben drew out halfway and then rocked back in. The glide was smooth, punching a breath out of Eivor as white-hot pleasure sparked along his spine, the wood beneath his back rattling from the force. He dug his blunt nails into Tarben’s shoulders. “Fuck! Harder!”

Tarben adjusted his hold so that Eivor was nearly bent in half and started thrusting harshly, his grip tightening hard enough on the jut of the other man’s hips that would likely leave dark bruises. The heat in his blood was scorching away any of his sensibilities as he worshipped Eivor’s body the only way he knew how – in earnest, and with as much enthusiasm as possible.

It was all Eivor could do to just hang on, pleasure coiling in his stomach in time to the steady rocking of his lover’s cock in and out of him. His senses climbed higher than he ever had, feeling like he was at the precipice of the highest mountains and just about to leap off, knowing he would be safe in his landing, wind rushing past his ears and through his hair—

Eivor came with a choked groan, marking his chest with thick lines of dripping white, the back of his head banging painfully against the wall behind him as his lover steadily fucked him through his peak. It didn’t take long until he heard Tarben let out a broken sound before he pressed impossibly close, face buried into the side of his beck, hips stilling abruptly. Eivor could feel him spilling inside of him for what felt like forever, before the other man lifted his head and drew him into a heady kiss that sent his head spinning.

Tarben’s arms were shaking as he carefully settled both of them onto the bed with Eivor on top of him. The baker gently pulled himself out with a tired sigh, his fingers idly brushing over where his seed was already starting to leak out from.

When sense returned to Eivor, he shifted onto his arms and then leaned in to give Tarben another kiss, lingering against his lips. “Mmm… that was a fucking worthy of a skald song.”

“Do you feel any pain? You must let me know if I hurt you.” Tarben’s hands rested on Eivor’s hips, feeling the skin there. Now, it was only red, but later it would quite likely turn into deep purple marks in the shape of his hands.

Eivor huffed a laugh, letting his head rest upon his lover’s shoulder. He would not be moving anytime soon, if he could help it. “Hurt me? I can’t wait to do this again.”

“You may think differently on that when you wake.” Tarben grabbed the nearest blanket and tossed it over the both of them. “Sleep. We will need to clean up in the morning.”

* * *

“So…”

“Worth it?”

“Yes. You?”

“Aye. Thanks again for the oil.”

Stowe and Eivor knocked their mugs of mead together, smiling secretively at each other from across a table in Saint Paul’s Cathedral. They both traded equally pained winces as they shifted on their padded chairs.


End file.
